


Red Rocket Ramblings

by GoblinGraveyard



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, I haven't played the games in ages so inconsistencies are gonna be a thing, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lots of welsh bullshittery, Other, Questionable Welsh Accents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinGraveyard/pseuds/GoblinGraveyard
Summary: Bits and pieces of the life of Rory Maddox, ex NCR trooper turned occasional Radio DJ.
Relationships: Female Lone Wanderer/Original Female Character(s)





	1. Wanderer

Rory hummed happily around the cigarette that sat between her dry lips. It had been months since she left Vegas, with a haphazardly filled rucksack and her trusty rifle. Not forgetting her ass of a brother, Gryff, who followed her out in fear that she was going to do something stupid. She was doing something stupid, but that wasn't the point.  
Twenty-two years old, fresh out of the military life that she had been accustomed to the past few years. If she had told her younger self that she'd ever end up following a caravan through the Capitol Wasteland, she'd definitely call her older, current self a lying jackass. The NCR was her life for so long, she'd never dreamt of leaving. She had so many plans – wanting to rise through the ranks and become a ranger. She was a pretty good sniper, almost good enough to join the 1st Recon she bet. But here she stood, under the shade of a building, smoking a crooked cigarette and looking over the cattle. She shrugged uncomfortably in her clothes – that of an NCR ranger that she was too wiry to fill out properly, causing it to hang over her long, thin frame.  
The merchant, Rita, cleared her throat loudly as a way to grab the young trooper turned caravan guard's attention. Rory threw the rest of her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. Such a waste. Rita gestured at her to come over, then pointed to a person walking towards them, either a possible customer or another thief. The person looked like a possible raider but definitely didn't have the demeanour. Dressed in what appeared to be a blue jumpsuit, an oversized black leather jacket, with a laser rifle strapped to their back. Their face was hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, and a red bandanna tied around their mouth. Their black hair thick and unruly, cut lopsidedly as if at one point it was partially shaved on one side.  
Rory raised her gun, just enough to show that she's willing to fire if necessary. Gryff snorted, aiming it no doubt at the person's head. Rita sighed, loud enough for the twins, but quiet enough to be out of earshot for the raider lookalike. They were pretty cheap hires, only 40 caps for the two. They definitely should have charged more, due to their experience, however, there were no other offers and they were hungry. The three of them were desperate enough to make the deal work.

The person stopped a metre away from the trio(plus the Brahmin), putting their hands up placatingly. “You selling?” they asked, voice dry, raspy, and definitely female. Rita gave her a sharp nod . “got any MF cells or Med X?”

Rita walked over to the Brahmin, busying herself with scrounging through the chem and ammo bags that hung off the animal's body. Rory took the opportunity, as usual, to harass the customers.

“What's with the mask?”

The other woman looked surprised, “I'm sorry – what?”

“The mask, what's up with tha?” Gryff repeated, voice rumbling in annoyance.

The masked customer narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “what's it to you?”

“Jus' curious” shrugged Rory.

The customer tilted her head to one side, a look of confusion flashing behind her glasses. “If I answer, will you tell me what the fuck is up with your accent?”

Rory let out a laugh, quiet and breathy, but nevertheless a laugh. A grin still plastered on her face, she answered with a simple, “sure, why not”

“I'm an ugly sonofabitch with a lot of stuff to hide”

“Aight,” Rory nodded, “Well, fair's fair. I'm from California, right out West”

“Is the accent really that different out there?”

“I mean, not really? I don't think so. Never really paid attention.” she shrugged, not wanting to get into the fact that her accent was definitely, _definitely_ not American and she couldn't explain _why_ especially not to a stranger who probably doesn't know about the tribes out there.  
By this time, Rita had fished out two syringes of Med-X, and a handful of Microfusion Cells for the customer. They exchanged caps, and that was almost the end of it. _Almost._

“Hey – name's Rory” she blurted out before she stopped herself. She could hear Gryff mutter under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like _'useless lesbian'_.

The stranger looked surprised or confused, or a mix of the two. Rory sucked in a sharp breath, ready to apologise for stepping out of line. “Flynn. Flynn Sawyer”

Rory grinned and Flynn only waved two fingers in a lazy salute as she turned away.

“Ey, you scared her away, champ.” laughed Gryff, “good going, record time too”

“You can't keep doing this Rudy.” sighed Rita.

“ _For fu-..._ For the hundredth time, it's Rory. _Rory.”_

“Aye, can you spell that?”

Rory opened her mouth to retort – because of _course_ , she couldn't spell her own damn name and the older woman _knew_ that – but the words caught in her throat.

“Didn't think so, kid. Alright you two, haul ass, we're heading to Megaton.”

* * *

It wasn't the first time she had stepped into the town, although this time she was conscious. The smell of frying food, cattle, and rust hit her like a shotgun shell. The sheer amount of people, of _life_ , was almost enough to make her panic. She never did well with crowds. She hated feeling boxed in. That was probably the aftermath of being raised out in the open or the training she put herself through to be a sniper.

Her stomach growled angrily, sounding closer to a Yao-Guai than a human organ. She winced, trying to remember when the last time she ate a proper meal. The cigarettes and the Nuka Cola she consumed on a regular basis did a good job in killing her hunger. Her last meal had been the night before – half a can of vaguely cooked cram that she shared with her brother, and a packet of instamash she barely managed to get through. The powdery substance mixed with the grit of dirty water was enough to make her gag. Safe to say, she was _not_ looking forward to another meal of _that_. Her body was begging for whatever the metal hut at the bottom of the hill – she vaguely recalled it being The Brass Lantern – was cooking. She would have _killed_ for some mirelurk cakes and a beer right about then.

The sun had started to set, and the town's folk had started packing up wares or heading inside. No one would have been interested in slightly ripped clothing and the stale food they had left to sell. Rory was ready to beg Rita to be relieved of her duty as a guard for the night, but luckily it didn't come to that. Rita didn't enjoy being around the two young adults for longer than she had to. Between their bickering, and their good-natured competitive streak, she was ready to strangle the twins herself. She was an older woman, maybe fifty, with dull brown hair that held many grey streaks. Rory had never seen the woman with a clean face – she'd always be covered in dust, grease, or dried blood from their encounters – but the older woman didn't seem to mind. She _definitely_ didn't have a maternal bone in her body, and she had threatened Rory to not have a kid while on her payroll. Not that that would have even been an issue, the young sniper had no interest and didn't want to bring another helpless kid into the brutal world she lived in.

As soon as the words “you can go” left Rita's mouth, Rory shot off in search of food. She dashed down the hill, almost tripping from momentum and over the wooden planks that _sort of_ made up the stairs. She skidded to a halt at the bottom, scaring a few pedestrians who were minding their own business and getting on with their life up until that moment. She would have berated herself for looking like a complete idiot if she wasn't starving.

She slipped into one of the chairs at the bar and sending a smile towards the server – a young woman with brown hair who Rory had forgotten the name of.

Rory gave her order, leaning against the counter as she waited. The chair next to her was filled quickly, and she decided to avoid eye contact because what else as she supposed to do? Strike up a conversation?

“Hey Jenny!” they called out in a familiar rusty tone.

“Flynn!Hey!” the server – Jenny – greeted.

 _Flynn?The one from earlier? Small world_ , Rory thought as she took her beer from Jenny, taking a large swig. She glanced over at the woman next to her, and sure enough, it was the customer from earlier, already regarding her with a gleam in her eye.

“Fancy meeting you here. Cali, right?”

“Rory, but yeah” nodded Rory, running her hand over her long ginger hair in an attempt to take her thick, unruly locks. “What brings you here to Megaton, Flynn?”

“I live here, so it's not too uncommon for me to be here. Can ask you the same question.”

“Jus' passing through. Staying the night is all” Rory shrugged, to which Flynn nodded slowly, turning back towards the counter as Jenny passed her a drink. “Hey, you're not gonna drink tha through your mask now, right?”

“Would be a great show, but ultimately gross” laughed Flynn, sounding as melodic as a tin can chime, or a ripper being set off. She pulled down her mask and took a swig of her whiskey, revealing her face for the first time.

“Thought you said you were ugly”

“Did I say that?” Flynn's lips curled in a smirk, turning her attention to Rory yet again. With the bandanna gone, her scars were on full display. Three thin lines cut deep into her left cheek, narrowly missing her eye, and her jaw was mottled with angry red welts and dry, cracked skin. Looking at her as close as this Rory noticed Flynn's eyes for the first time – the brightest, purest green she's ever seen on a living person. “Don't really know what to tell ya, between this face and the status I have, I like to keep things on a low profile.”

Rory laughed, barely noticing when Jenny slid her plate over in front of her if it wasn't for the smell. Fresh Mirelurk cakes. “So, you're a cocky one” she stated between bites of food, “never even heard of you”.

“Luckily it's not attached to my name.”Flynn shrugged, taking another long swig. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, turning her attention to the suddenly very interesting counter. “You know that the water's actually pure around here? My dad started the project behind it.”Rory got the impression that the woman expected her to know about this, but nothing came to mind.

“Not to sound rude or anything, but I have no fuckin idea who you are”

Flynn hummed as she continued drinking, They sat in silence as Rory ate, and Flynn drank, which lead to them both drinking to cure the air between them. There was barely an inch left in Flynn's bottle when she finally stood up. “You wanna come back to mine?”

Rory choked on the remainder of her drink. “Fuck you're forward.”

Flynn rolled her eyes, “you want to or not? Not forcing you anywhere, Cali”

“Fuck it, why not”

* * *

Rory woke with a pounding in her skull and weight on her chest she couldn't shift. The light bleeding through the window caused her to groan and cover her face with her forearm. The weight on top of her shuffled and groaned. _Ah shit, if it's another molerat I swear-._ The thought was cut short when the weight above her spoke.

“Fuck – what time is it?”

“Hey – Flynn?”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck” sighed Rory in disbelief. The two women finally opened their eyes to brave the morning light. Flynn sat up, rubbing her face and letting out a jaw cracking yawn. Rory looked up at Flynn, raising a stark white eyebrow that didn't match the most of her hair. “Would it kill you to cover up?”

“Could tell you the same thing” Flynn rolled her eyes, kneeling and leaning back, allowing Rory to stand ungracefully on shaky legs stiff with sleep.

The lanky ginger haphazardly pulled on her underwear and stiff khaki trousers, clicking her belt into place as she looked for her shirt in the mess of clothing strewn around the room.

“You got a shit ton of scars there, was going to mention yesterday but, y'know, we were busy with other stuff”

“Yeah? I live in the wasteland, I'm not sure what you're expecting here”.

“I get that – fuck, even in my short time out here I've picked up a few, but nothing like this.” Flynn pointed at an old wound on Rory's stomach, one that almost tore through a tattoo she had gotten when she was a teenager. The words “Calon Lan” that was etched in black a few inches under her rips were punctuated with a circular, pink scar from a bullet. “With my limited medical knowledge, that probably should have killed you”

“Almost did” Rory attempted to brush off any connection she had to her wound. Finally, she retrieved her white t-shirt from amongst the pile and unceremoniously tugged it over her thin frame.. “what I signed up for when I joined the military I guess. What about you? You've got some interesting ones.”

True to Rory's word, Flynn's pale skin was dotted with the same welts and dry, brown skin that lined her jaw. Her shoulders had the worst of it, the entirety was covered, slowly spreading down her collarbone before stopping abruptly. Flynn winced, “uh, yeah, I guess. They're uh...definitely something”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, it's just...none of this is common knowledge, I don't want this getting out, yeah?” said Flynn, worry in her eyes, “I'm going ghoul. Just a little so far, but it's happening. It's not contagious if you were going to ask. You'll be fine”

Rory nodded, pulling on her scuffed NCR breastplate, clicking it into place. “That's gotta suck.”

Flynn watched Rory tug on her jacket and comb her fingers through her long unruly hair, splotched with white much like the rest of her body. She hesitated before answering, seeming to debate the best answer, “...Yeah. Yeah, it really does.”

Rory flashed a sad smile towards the dark-haired woman who sat on the bed. “You uh, not gonna say something weird like I took your virginity or something now, right?” the tall ginger said in an attempt to lighten the mood before she had to go. She didn't want to leave Flynn on a sour note.

Flynn chuckled softly, seemingly grateful for the change in topic, “I was abducted by aliens at nineteen”

Rory blinked. Flynn grinned. The redhead nodded slowly to herself, “and on that note, I really need to get back to Rita before she skins me alive. I might see you around though?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Rory smiled, sending a small salute towards Flynn before turning and navigating her way through the small shack that Flynn called home. She pushed past the Mr Handy that floated at the bottom of the stairs and headed out into the bright, crisp outdoors.


	2. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The marriage and death of Rhiannon Merch Madog.

It was a beautiful day in the Mojave. The sun burned high in the sky without a cloud in sight, casting long shadows from the tents that were haphazardly placed. The perfect day for the wedding of the Tribal leader's youngest daughter.

A feast had been prepared all morning, and wreathes of dried grass and flowers were placed between the makeshift tents. Their symbolic brahmin skull on a stick had been decorated with ribbons and beads they had scavenged and placed beside the makeshift altar. A path leading from one end of the camp to the altar was lined with whatever shiny object they could get their hands on – pocket watches, glass bottles, their polished weapons. The tribe had truly gone above and beyond for this now rare event.

Rhiannon Merch Madog was ready to die.

Eighteen years old, without a true choice in the world besides fleeing. A choice that became increasingly more and more tempting even with the knowledge that she'd be dragged back kicking and screaming or shot for deserting. Her mother roughly combed the knots out of her hair, prompting pained whinging from the young adult.

The young adult in question, with her wild hair and chipped teeth, had her face painted with streaks of blue – the traditional look of their tribe. The streaks had been lines with dots on the underside, with a crescent moon on her forehead to counteract her brother's sun. Parts of her hair had been braided and pulled back to meet and hang from the back of her head to keep it out of her face. Her mother hummed softly to herself as she brushed down Rhian's clothes, straightening and tidying. It was a song that she had sung to each of her five children when they were young and hopped that each would pass it on to their own offspring.

“There, _prydferth_ ” the older woman smiled, cupping her daughter's jaw as she gave her one last once over to make sure that she was ready for her big day.

Rhian shuffled uncomfortably out of her mother's touch, looking to the ground. “I don't _want_ this” she whispered, voice quaking with emotion, “I can't.”

Her mother sighed, as she did whenever Rhian brought it up. “Lynn's a good girl, she's good for you. She's going to be a good wife to you”

“But I don't want a wife! Lynn's my friend, I don't see her like tha'”

“This is for the tribe, your father needs the Davidsons to stay in the tribe”

Rhian heaved a heavy sigh, knowing there was no use fighting any more than she already had. She squared her shoulders, to at least pretend she was confident in what was happening. “Let's just get this over with”.

Her mother held her hand, squeezing gratefully as she lead her out of the humble tent. Rhian shielded her eyes against the bright sun, sucking in a sharp breath. Her father – a large man with thick brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail – spotted the two women, languidly walking over. He gave Rhian a once over, holding her chin to keep her head in place to which she wiggled out of his grip.

“Is everything ready?” he asked his wife, looking at his youngest daughter with something close to respect. Her mother nodded and passed the young tribal heir across. She gave Rhian one last smile before she left to one of the other tents, presumably where Lynn was being kept.

“Now I don't want any funny business – I don't care what you do after but we need this Rhian” he sighed, sick with his daughter's antics, “you'll understand when you're older.”

Rhian huffed, crossing her arms and avoiding eye contact. “I'm already an adul' – I don' see why I need to do this” she grumbled, her accent coming out thicker with her annoyance. She felt as if she was caged, regretting not running when she had the smallest chance. She only felt the slightest relief that her father had dumped her on Lynn instead of the only other eligible adult, Cai, who had gone missing months before.

“ _Rhiannon_ ” he warned, voice low. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, “ _Uffern d_ _â_ _n_ , you're making this so much harder than it needs to be”.

She huffed again, stiffening when her father put his hand on her shoulder, ushering her to walk in front of him to assure she doesn't run. Not that she could if she wanted to, the hunter's were still very much armed.

* * *

Rhian stood in the middle of her new tent that she shared with her now-wife. She stared awkwardly at the singular bed that sat in the corner of the reasonably sized area she now shared with her _wife._ Lynn punched her arm playfully and rolled her eyes. The woman barely reached Rhian's shoulders but was broad with thick muscle from helping her father put together and maintain weapons for the tribe. Rhian was, in Lynn's own words, a long bitch in comparison.

Lynn let Rhian stew in her feelings for a little while longer before pushing her towards the bed. “It's not different from when we were kids, but if it makes you feel better you take the bed for the nigh'”

Rhian immediately shook her head, looking at Lynn, eyes wild in confusion, “It's not tha'. It's just...We're _married_ now, that's so fuckin' weird”

“Right?”Lynn laughed, a nervous lilt to her voice. “God that's so weird”.

Rhian sat at the edge of the bed, patting the empty space beside her for Lynn, who came to sit next to her. “Really adults now”

“Yeah. Holy fuck, you might be the leader one day”

“Piss off” laughed Rhian, shoving Lynn good-naturedly. “There's a pretty big line before me, thank fuck”

The sun had long since set, the darkness of night bleeding into the sky much like ink spreading in water. The two lay on their bed, chatting and attempting to relieve each other of the awkward tension that had built between them since it was announced that they were to be married.

The torches were snuffed out one by one, until they lay in pitch blackness, sleep weighing at their eyes. The tribe members had settled in, blowing out their lanterns one after another as silence fell over the Cymreion tribe. Lynn fell asleep with her back facing Rhian with a safe distance between them – still not truly the awkwardness that had pushed them apart for the weeks prior.

Rhian shuffled, unable to sleep. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes after what felt like hours of trying to sleep. With a jaw cracking yawn, she stood up. Her bones popped and clicked as she moved, loud enough that she was worried that she had woken Lynn. She glanced over at the other woman's sleeping form, who had barely even shifted in her absence. Something felt off to Rhian, in a way she couldn't explain. Blaming it on the aftermath of the day she shook her head to herself, silently laughing at how she was so stubborn to go into this when it barely changed anything at all.

She left her tent into the cool night air, closing her eyes and breathing it in and exhaling slowly, grounding herself. She wished she felt any different than she had before. She was truly recognised as an adult now, but she was worried that she would still be treated the same due to her parentage. Walking towards the edge of the camp, she could hear the clanging of metal and boots on soil. Shrugging it off as the hunters returning late with whatever they could find, she gave it no notice. She continued with her lap around the camp, trying to wear herself out so that she might be able to sleep. She didn't want to have to resort to drinking alcohol to knock herself out – she hated the taste, no matter what it was.  
Lights flashed in the distance – about half a mile from the camp. She squinted, trying to make out features in the dark. The best that she could make out was that they weren't wearing the traditional blanket capes of their tribe. She got closer, hiding behind a rock at the far edge of their campsite. Again, trying to make out features, this time far more successfully. It was the garb of the faction she had regularly harassed for fun. She stood, backing into the camp and breaking into a run to alert the others.

“Legion!” she yelled, running into her parent's tent, waking them with another yell, “It's the Legion – they're here”.

Her mother was the first to wake, her face contorted into a silent question before the news sunk in. She shook her husband awake, who looked around in panic at his wife and the gangly child that stood at their bedside. She repeated herself once more for it to sink in, to which he jumped into action and grabbed his gun. He tossed a spare at Rhian, who barely knew how to hold one. A rifle, newly polished and repaired. He shared a look with her and nodded, rushing from the tent.  
The invaders had caught up with the camp, firing their weapons at whoever had come into their sights. Tents burned, Rippers whirred and cut. Rhian managed to get back to her own tent as Lynn was being dragged away by two men. She fired a few shots, each going wide. She went to run after them, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her and pulled her back.

“C'mon, we need to leave” Her sister, Shannon. She hadn't been at the ceremony, instead opting to leave camp hours with her infant son. Rhian struggled against her, wanting desperately to go after her childhood friend.

“Let go of me” she snarled, ripping away and turning to run, only for a sharp pain to snap across the back of her head. She fell to her knees, disorientated, feeling a different pair of hands dragging her away. She could vaguely hear the voiced of her brothers in the background. _How fucking hard was she hit?_. The smell of burning and blood on the top of the world spinning rapidly around her was enough to make her retch, vomiting onto the ground in front of her. She could make out her sister complain as she was pulled to her feet and half dragged, half carried out of the camp.

The last she saw was the yellows and reds of her camp burning as her siblings dragged her away from all she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh things:  
> 1.The Brahmin skull on a stick is there to represent the Welsh tradition of "The Mari Llwyd" which is a decorated horse skull(Highkey recommend checking it out - had to stare down one of the bastard things for six months in my music class at 15 - wild times)  
> 2.Prydferth = Pretty/Beautiful  
> 3\. Uffern Dân = Hell fire, basically the Welsh equivalent of "bloody hell"  
> (Bonus)None of them pronounce their 'T's purely because a lot of people in my area(me included) don't so I'm adopted it into this
> 
> Honestly this is all based off of the Celts because I apparently have an obsession. 
> 
> If you want updates/to criticise/give pointers, go bully me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KitWynter), it's the only way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at FuckTheInsitute.Tumblr.com for even more bullshit about Rory
> 
> @KitWynter on Twitter


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